Surrender Your Love

By: J.C. Reed

Chapter 7

The plane landed at Malpensa airport nine painful hours later, which was the longest period I had ever spent on a plane. I knew I didn’t look my best. My head reeled, my eyes burned from a lack of sleep, and my thighs ached for a jog, but at that moment, I couldn’t be more excited. Milan’s ancient buildings and twinkling city lights were waiting just outside the sliding doors. I was ready to explore each and every part of this wonderful city on my days off, of which I hoped I would have plenty.

Smiling, I gathered my unruly hair in a high ponytail and pinched my cheeks to look more presentable, then picked up my luggage from the carousel and made my way through customs. The arrivals area was filled with waiting families and taxi drivers. I spied a cardboard plaque the size of a notebook with my name written on it and walked over, expecting my new boss to be waiting for me. The middle-aged guy greeted me in broken English, and I knew it couldn’t possibly be Mayfield.

“Seniorita Stewart, I’m your driver. May I take your luggage?” He didn’t wait for my answer. He grabbed my suitcase and heaved it up in a fluent motion, then carried it to the parked SUV, dodging the dissipating crowds and taxi drivers vying for tourists’s attention. I hurried after him, concentrating hard to keep up with his chitter-chatter as he went on to tell me about the weather, the country, sightseeing opportunities, and who knows what else.

Night had descended, but the airport was brightly illuminated, allowing a breathtaking sneak peak at the mountain scenery I had seen outlined through the plane’s window. I smiled and nodded politely as he opened the door for me, and I jumped onto the back seat of the car. He paused in his conversation for all of five seconds, or as long as it took him to pull out of the parking lot. As we headed up the highway he resumed his chat.

“You had a nice trip but very long?” I nodded, and he laughed. “But now it’s over and you’ll have a beautiful vacation.” I didn’t want to point out that I wasn’t on vacation, so I just nodded again. The driver continued his half-English, half-Italian monologue through the drive to Bellagio. By the time he pulled over thirty minutes later, my head was reeling, and not from the fresh air and stunning backdrop I had glimpsed outside the window. I jumped out on shaky feet, my hand clutching the car’s door for support, as I gawked at the hotel in front of me.

The architecture was definitely neo-classical, reminding me of Ancient Greek and Rome with its little columns, capitals, and beautiful sculptural bas-reliefs that my fingers itched to touch. It was big but not oversized, about five stories high with a beautiful illuminated fountain spewing up water onto two embracing angels from which a thick, red carpet was stretched out to the heavy glass door. As I entered my home for the next two weeks, my breath caught in my throat.

Holy cow.

The reception hall, though not big, was absolutely stunning. Glass candelabra dangled from the high ceiling, illuminating the polished ivory marble floor below and accentuating the flower reliefs adorning the ivory-colored walls. But what impressed me most were the two Corinthian columns behind the reception desk.

Silvio passed my luggage to a uniformed bellboy and instructed him to bring it straight up to my room, while I waited at the reception desk to check in.

The receptionist smiled. She was a woman in her thirties with glowing olive skin and glossy hair to die for.

“Welcome, Miss Stewart,” she said in heavily accented English. “You’ve been booked on the upper floor. This is your key.” She held up a white piece of plastic the size of a credit card. “The restaurant’s open from seven to midnight. Room service is available around the clock. If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them. Let me show you the way.”

I shook my head and returned her generous smile. “That won’t be necessary. I think I’ll be fine.” Architecture had always been my thing, only I never had the chance or money to visit a place this grand. I didn’t want to have to make small talk when I’d rather gawk at every single detail without anyone watching over my shoulder.

“But I insist. The elevators are over here.” She pointed behind her at the narrow corridor leading past the columns and around a corner. I followed her upstairs while listening to her recommending Italy’s must-see sights and excursions. And then she let me into my room and closed the door as she left, wishing me a pleasant stay.

I tossed the swipe card on the nearby coffee table realizing I hadn’t thought of tipping her, the bellboy, or the driver. “Oh, crap,” I muttered. Was it too late to run downstairs and do it now? Should I wait until the morning? I had never stayed in anything remotely expensive, so my knowledge of proper tipping etiquette was rather limited.

“Are you okay?” The male voice coming from my right startled me. I shrieked and jumped a step back, dropping my handbag in the process. My head turned in the intruder’s direction, and my mouth opened to let out an earsplitting sound, but what came out resembled more a surprised grumble that slowly turned into a sensation of anger pounding against my skull.

“Are you following me?” I was so angry I almost choked on my words.

“I could ask you the same question, since I was here first.” Mystery Guy cocked a brow and moved closer until he stood mere inches from my face. From this distance, or lack thereof, I could take in each and every detail of his face. His luscious lips were slightly curved in the most arrogant smile I had ever seen. Almost hidden by his day-old stubble were two tiny indentations in his cheeks, which I knew could turn into full-blown dimples. Dimples were my weakness. My fingers itched to reach up and touch them, touch his skin, feel his stubble to see whether it was as deliciously scratchy as it looked. His beautiful green eyes shimmered. His lips parted slightly, and I knew he could either sense my naughty thoughts or had some of his own. Maybe he remembered something I didn’t about our night together. My cheeks were on fire.

Swallowing hard, I looked down his delicious body and instantly regretted it. His shirt stretched over broad shoulders, leaving no doubt that the guy worked out. A lot. A dark patch of curly hair peeked from beneath his undone top button. It was the same color as his happy trail I had glimpsed when he didn’t bother to cover up in my bed.

In my bed.

God, I liked the sound of that. My cheeks flushed again as I cringed inwardly at my thoughts. What was wrong with me? The guy had trouble written all over him, and yet I behaved like a pubescent teen in heat, unable to control my own hormones. I had to find my wits, or what was left of them, before the guy’s ego grew bigger than the Eiffel Tower.

“What are you doing here?” I asked bending down to pick up my handbag from the floor. His gaze followed my ass and stayed glued to it a bit too long. I hurried to straighten up but not fast enough. A low, appreciative growl escaped his throat.

“Looking at my favorite spot. Need help with that?” He pointed in the direction of my heavy suitcase, but his gaze remained glued to my ass. My clothes seemed to evaporate into thin air. I fought the urge to shrug into my coat and keep it on for the rest of our unsolicited conversation.

“I’ll be just fine, thanks.” Irritated, I turned to face him, which in turn forced his gaze away from my ass and back to my face. A glint of disappointment appeared in his expression, as though, unlike my ass, my face wasn’t quite worth his time. I crossed my arms over my chest and regarded him coolly. “What was your excuse again for breaking into my room?”

“I’m staying here.”

I smirked. “Unless Mayfield invited you over for the ride, and he’s a stingy SOB, I don’t think that’s the case.”

He laughed. His voice sounded like satin silk caressing my skin, velvety soft yet luxurious. I shuddered lightly.

He’s bad news, Stewart, I reminded myself.

“I’ll try not to be offended this time, but for future reference, my employees don’t usually talk to me like that.” His lips remained curled into that gorgeous, lopsided smile, which made it hard to focus on anything else. It took me a few seconds to realize the meaning of his words. We were in a different country at the same time. I was supposed to meet my new boss, whom I had just called a stingy SOB, and Mystery Guy felt offended.

“You’re Mayfield, aren’t you?” My voice came low and hoarse. He nodded slowly, staring at me. “But you said your name was Jett Townsend.”

He nodded again. “Townsend was my mother’s name. I like to use it when I meet potential employees. It makes the whole recruitment process easier and, let’s say, refreshing.”

All heat drained from my face. Holy shit. I hadn’t even started my new job and already I was insulting my new boss…right after sleeping with him. I was worse than Sylvie. “So you’re—”

My speech eluded me.

“Jett Mayfield, the stingy SOB who just hired you.” He held out his palm. I didn’t want to touch him but what choice did I have? I placed my hand into his and flinched at how deliciously warm and manly his touch felt. His calloused palm scratched my skin, sending an electric jolt into my lower body. I wondered how it would feel to have Jett Mayfield’s hands stroking the inside of my thighs.

Get a grip, Stewart. After this stunt you’re lucky if you still have a job. Let’s keep it at that.

“I’m so sorry,” I said pulling my hand away and jumping a step back to put some much needed distance between us. “I didn’t know who you were. Usually, I’m way more professional. I take my job very seriously and know my place.”

“I hope you do because I have great plans with you.”

My breath hitched in my throat. Why did I keep hearing double meanings in his words?

“Ready to see your room?” Jett grabbed my suitcase and set off through what looked like a living room, toward three doors. I hurried to keep up with him. He opened one of them and moved aside to let me through. “This is it. If you need anything I’ll be next door.” He pointed at the closed door. “I’ll leave you to unpack. Work starts at eight sharp. I like my employees to be punctual so don’t be late.”

The guy was sleeping next door. With only a few inches of wall between us. I wondered whether he slept naked. He sure had been in my bed. The picture of a naked Jett Mayfield looking all self-assured and not bothered flashed before my eyes. My cheeks began to burn.

Not again.

Talk about being doomed.

He smirked as though he could sense my thoughts. My temper flared. What sort of sleeping arrangement was that? Was it even legal? I opened my mouth to protest when he pressed his index finger against my lips, silencing me instantly.

“I like to keep my personal assistants at my beck and call. I hope you don’t have a problem with that.” His gaze bore into me, challenging me to show just how much his proximity blew off any sense of self-control. Did I have a problem with that? You bet, and yet I shook my head no. He was just a man, for crying out loud. I could deal with his kind. Besides, I had a million other questions that needed addressing. Like why he employed me and brought me in on such an important job at the last minute, when it’d take me ages to get acquainted with all the details.

“Eight a.m. it is.” My voice came lower than expected and a little bit hoarse, but at least I managed to speak.

“Sleep well, Miss Stewart. I’ll make sure to make this stay worth remembering.” He smiled and my heart dropped into my panties. A big neon light flashed before my eyes:


I had to get the heck away from him, and yet my feet remained glued to the spot as I watched him stroll into the living room. His narrow waist accentuated the broad shoulders and sculpted upper arms that were clearly visible beneath his thin shirt. My gaze moved down to his long legs and strong thighs—thighs I imagined parting and settling between my legs.

I groaned, irritated with myself, and slammed the door a tad too hard.

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